937 | Fact Check Beliefs

937_Fact Check Your Beliefs· After-Plan Contract Scams

Chapter 1: Evan Asks Abby About Her Afterlife Plan and Believer Vacations

As Evan asks Abby about her afterlife plan and believer vacations, the late‑afternoon sun slants through the high windows of the school library, painting long rectangles of light across worn carpet and metal shelves. Most students are gone. The few who remain murmur over group projects or scroll in blue‑gray glow.

Abby and Evan sit at a corner table, half‑hidden behind a row of encyclopedias nobody touches anymore. Abby’s backpack gapes open, textbooks and a crumpled youth‑group flyer spilling out. Evan’s notebook lies in front of him, a blank page waiting.

Evan taps his pen once, then looks up.

“Abby,” he asks, “what do you think you’re doing after this life? Your afterlife plan. What is it?”

Abby pops a piece of gum in her mouth and shrugs.

“I’ve got a guaranteed ticket to Heaven,” she says. “I’m all set.”

She says it like she’s already booked an all‑inclusive resort.

Evan leans back in his chair.

“What exactly are you doing there?” he asks.

Abby laughs.

“I don’t know or care,” she says. “I’ll find out when I get there.”

Evan raises an eyebrow.

“That’s pretty vague planning,” he says. “For all eternity. No expectations at all?”

Abby twirls the string on her hoodie.

“I mean, I’ll be in vacationland,” she says. “With my Creator and all the other believers. My Creator gives me a mansion with a pool. He feeds me. Buys me all the latest clothes.”

Her eyes go distant, like she’s watching a trailer for a life that hasn’t started yet.

“My Savior does anything I ask,” Abby adds. “He’s my best friend. You should join my team. It’s super easy to sign up.”

Evan’s pen stops moving.

“Do you have a meaningful job there?” he asks. “Like, you wake up and go to work? Or…no?”

Abby snorts.

“I don’t see why that’s necessary,” she says. “My Father and His only Son can do miracles and give me whatever I want. I’m going on a very long, ultra‑deluxe vacation. I can’t wait to get there.”

Her voice softens.

“Only the believers live happily ever after,” she adds.

For half a second, something flickers in her expression—a crack—but she covers it with a joking tone.

“That does sound too good to be true,” she mutters, then shrugs the thought away.

“Unlike Earth, Heaven is perfect,” Abby says. “No more temptations, so my soul acts perfectly. Everyone up there is a perfect servant of our Creator when we’re on duty. And when there’s nothing to do for Him, we get to do whatever we want.”

She smiles.

“We won’t even want to do anything wrong in our free time,” she says. “Earthly temptations can’t get past the walls around Paradise.”

Evan studies her. Around Abby, he almost feels it—a soft, cottony aura of pink and gray, wrapping tight every time she says the word perfect.

“Will there still be digital entertainment?” Evan asks. “Social media?”

Abby doesn’t hesitate.

“I cannot imagine a perfect afterworld without rock music, streaming, and great food,” she says. “I honestly think my Creator inspired people to invent digital entertainment and social media—to prep us for using those gifts in the afterlife.”

“Maybe there are other skills to learn,” Evan says. “Does anyone up there ever mess up? Because they lack talent, experience and knowledge?”

Abby shakes her head quickly.

“My all‑knowing Creator doesn’t order servants to do things they’re not qualified for,” she says.

Evan nods slowly.

“So the souls with the least talent,” he says, “end up with the most free time. They get to do whatever they want.”

He taps the pen against the table.

“If you actually strive toward self‑mastery—toward real talents—then in Heaven you just get more and more assignments,” he continues. “You lose your free time. So believers on Earth don’t see the point of developing ‘Heavenly talents’ now. The better they become, the busier their eternity gets.”

He meets her eyes.

“The worthless souls,” Evan says quietly, “get the vacation. The talented souls get put to work.”

He tilts his head.

“I hope you’ve thought this through,” he adds. “It would be a disaster if your assumptions are wrong.”

Abby sucks in a breath.

“Oh my gosh,” she says. “Don’t even say stuff like that. You’ll jinx the power of my beliefs.”

Inside, her stomach flips. Part of her wants him to shut up. Part of her can’t stop hearing the holes in her favorite story.

Chapter 2: Evan and Abby Discuss Free Will, Untalented Souls, and the Creator

While Evan and Abby discuss free will, untalented souls, and the Creator, the light in the library turns more golden as the sun sinks. Somewhere in the stacks, a custodian pushes a cart; its wheels squeak like a metronome.

Evan flips to a new page in his notebook, as if he’s drawing a map of something nobody else sees.

“I think the talented souls up there,” he says, “probably finish their creative work fast. They’d get some free time between assignments.”

He glances at her.

“The really untalented ones,” he adds, “might get endless, boring jobs. Cosmic janitors. Maintenance techs. Cleaning universes takes a lot of soul‑power. I don’t picture everyone just on vacation forever.”

Abby looks down at her hands.

“As long as we’re in the presence of our glorious Creator,” she says, “believers are happy doing whatever we’re told.”

She repeats the line like a sentence she’s memorized.

“It’s written that the Almighty can do anything and is in charge of everything,” she adds. “So he doesn’t need our help.”

She shifts her gum from one side of her mouth to the other.

“Someone told me,” Abby says, “who heard it from someone else, to believe everything written in this one special book.”

Evan leans forward.

“Does that big book with the tiny print,” he asks, “actually describe what you do in Heaven?”

Abby tilts her head.

“Everything’s written down in great detail,” she says slowly, “except what happens after I get in.”

She lets out a short laugh that dies too fast.

“There are hints,” she adds. “That it’s beautiful and peaceful. Whoever wrote it probably figured no one would care what we do, so they left that part out.”

She shrugs.

“Over the last few thousand years,” Abby says, “people added extra beliefs. Imagined the best possible experience. And we’re told Heaven is beyond anything we can describe or understand. So…yeah. I fully expect all my friends, family, and pets to be there with me, forever vacationing.”

“Are they all baptized believers?” Evan asks.

Abby’s shoulders droop.

“No,” she admits. “But I’m trying to get them in. So they don’t get burned.”

She chews faster.

“I’m planning on begging my Savior to let everyone in as a personal favor,” she says. “He responds really well to people kneeling and begging.”

Evan’s pen hovers.

“Do you still have free will in Paradise?” he asks.

Abby frowns.

“I’ve actually wondered about that,” she says. “The special book doesn’t really say if we still get open choices.”

She fiddles with the zipper on her hoodie.

“I don’t see any reason to risk letting souls do harmful stuff,” she says. “Evil temptations are outlawed. So I think all Heavenly beings will only want to do what the Creator tells them.”

Her eyes brighten at her own picture.

“Everyone plays and has fun,” Abby says, “until we get specific instructions. My Creator is amazing at multitasking. He can micro‑manage billions of souls at once. The Almighty can handle everything.”

She pauses.

“I do sometimes wonder what He’ll actually tell us to do,” she adds. “Besides singing to Him.”

She gives a small laugh.

“Can you imagine a billion souls singing together?” she asks. “I’m assuming everyone speaks English, obviously. It’s the best language.”

Evan smiles faintly.

“I also can’t wait to see all my dead pets,” Abby continues. “It’ll be so fun to have pets that don’t bark, don’t shed, don’t ever need to poop.”

Evan tilts his head.

“Interesting assumption,” he says. “How do those animals earn the right to enter your paradise?”

Abby blinks.

“I want them there,” she says. “In Heaven, I always get what I want. That’s how everyone stays happy.”

She narrows her eyes at him.

“Why are you asking all these questions?” Abby demands. “Are you thinking about becoming an Absolver?”

Evan shakes his head.

“Honestly?” he says. “The opposite. I’m trying to help you untangle your unverified assumptions. See if a new angle makes you rethink your afterlife plans.”

He taps his notebook.

“You’ve committed,” he says, “to an afterlife based on a stack of expectations no one has ever checked.”

Abby lifts her chin.

“That’s correct,” she says, almost proudly. “If there’s no info about something in the good book, I’m free to believe whatever I want.”

She smiles, thin but satisfied.

“It’s super convenient,” Abby says. “A lot has changed since that ‘perfect resource’ got written two thousand years ago. Our imaginations let Absolvers keep it flexible.”

Evan tilts his head.

“Why hasn’t your Savior updated it?” he asks. “If he can raise himself from the dead, he can release a second, third, fourth edition.”

He mimes opening a glossy brochure.

“An afterlife add‑on could include full‑color guides to all the vacation activities,” he says. “Sequels could cover computers, AI, gender and other questions. Great authors write sequels. So…when’s the modern version coming out?”

Abby laughs nervously.

“We can talk to our Savior,” she says, “but he can’t talk to us. Absolvers live by unquestionable beliefs. Our strong faith makes our Father happy. Then he picks us as companions.”

Evan nods slowly.

“If I were an all‑knowing being,” he says, “I’d want to hang out with friends who actually understood me. Not a room full of miserable, worthless sinners.”

Abby shakes her head.

“My Creator likes being the King in his kingdom,” she says. “He doesn’t want equal beings trying to take his throne. Except maybe his only Son.”

She twists her bracelet.

“He prevents competition by making worthless souls,” Abby says, “so they never rebel like the fallen angels.”

Her voice drops.

“He ended that rebellion,” she adds, “by kicking the rebel angels out of Heaven and sending them to Earth.”

Evan’s eyes sharpen.

“He felt sorry for them,” Abby continues, “so he hired them as quality‑control agents. To test billions of new souls being mass‑produced.”

She chews slowly.

“The Creator makes, like, eight new souls a second,” she says.

Evan pictures it: a cosmic factory line, a jealous king, souls stamped out like products.

Overhead, the fluorescent lights flicker once—as if the building itself is straining under the weight of so many untested beliefs.

Chapter 3: Abby Defends the Written Answers of Her Savior

Shortly before Abby defends the written answers of her Savior, the library empties. A librarian pushes a cart past their table, gives them a quick, curious glance, then moves on.

Evan doesn’t move.

“Does your Savior give you daily inspiration?” he asks.

Abby shifts in her seat.

“You ask too many questions,” she says. “I’m going to get in trouble just talking to you.”

She lowers her voice.

“Only the Tempters talk in our heads,” she says. “So we ignore every thought we hear.”

She taps the worn Bible peeking out of her bag.

“Everything my Savior wants to say is already written in the special book of encrypted answers,” Abby says.

Evan frowns.

“How do you build a close relationship?” he asks. “By never asking questions? Just reading advice written down two thousand years ago?”

He looks at her seriously.

“What kind of ‘superior mystic being’ can’t have actual conversations with his followers?” he asks.

Abby stiffens.

“You don’t get it,” she says. “The eternal sacred words, the parables, the fables—they’re made of his blood.”

Her eyes shine with awe and a thin edge of fear.

“When I read the magic book,” Abby says, “I find answers to questions I haven’t even asked yet.”

She shrugs.

“Usually I don’t understand what I’m reading,” she admits. “So I pretend I know what it means. I fill in the blanks.”

A small laugh slips out.

“This old book stays popular,” she says, “because it’s so…flexible. Universal. If the answer isn’t clear in the coded messages, then my Creator knew ahead of time I’d never understand that mystery.”

She spreads her hands.

“He can hear me when I ask for favors,” she adds. “He’s just too busy to respond. I think he must be shy.”

Evan’s pen scratches across the page.

“A long time ago,” he says, “your Savior inspired people to write that book. Can he still talk to people now? Have them write new things he says?”

He shakes his head.

“I can’t imagine he isn’t shocked by today’s society,” Evan says. “He has to have something new to say.”

He looks at her.

“Do you think he’s inspired anyone to write a sequel in the last hundred years?”

Abby draws in a breath.

“My Savior can do anything he wants,” she says. “So if he isn’t doing it, he doesn’t want to.”

She leans back.

“He already said everything he wanted to say when the great book was made from his divine essence,” Abby continues. “No rewrites. No updates. Only the Tempters are writing new stuff.”

Evan nods slowly.

“I see,” he says. “There are benefits to having a closed mind. You can stuff it full of all the answers you’ll ever need.”

Abby hears the sarcasm. The faint gray static around her thoughts thickens, like a helmet she doesn’t know she’s wearing.

Chapter 4: Abby Explains the Blind Faith of Absolvers to Evan

As Abby explains the blind faith of Absolvers to Evan, one of the overhead lights clicks on in the far corner. The librarian starts closing down sections. They don’t have long.

Evan flips to a clean page.

“So what do Absolvers actually want?” he asks.

Abby answers without thinking.

“I want simple answers to big questions,” she says. “If I don’t get something, I just assume I can’t.”

She taps the table.

“Absolvers are born unable to understand deep cosmic truth or the big picture,” she says. “On purpose. That forces us to lean on blind faith. It makes our obedience stronger.”

She breathes out.

“I don’t want to feel intimidated by stuff I can’t answer,” Abby says. “I want instant, guaranteed, automatic results. I’m willing to sacrifice everything now if it means eternal comfort later.”

Her eyes glint.

“I want to feel right and everyone else wrong,” she says. “It boosts my confidence. Gives me hope. My blind beliefs override logic, truth, law—everything. They plug the holes in what I don’t know and can’t prove.”

Evan hums.

“You’re embracing kindergarten consciousness,” he says softly.

He taps his pen again.

“So what do Absolvers believe and assume and expect?” he asks.

Abby straightens.

“I believe in the book of rules,” she says, “and in the sacred, infallible Interpreters.”

Her tone goes almost reverent.

“The solidified blood‑essence writings of my Savior,” she continues, “contain all knowable wisdom and truth. Everything else is lies.”

She glances at him.

“I conveniently assume the trained, sanctified Interpreters are exceptional,” she says. “They know more than I ever could. If they don’t know the answer to my question, then I shouldn’t be asking it.”

Evan nods slowly.

“Interpreters have wildly different ‘truth’ versions,” he says. “Their interpretations aren’t equal.”

He leans forward.

“Conflicting opinions mean somebody’s lying or misinformed,” he says. “Being sanctified and ‘filled with the Holy Spirit’ makes an Interpreter devout, not infallible.”

He spreads his hands.

“I trust what they say,” Evan adds dryly, “as long as it includes my debts being paid off and a free mansion with my eternal vacation.”

Abby can’t help it; she smiles a little.

“Has this ancient big book,” Evan asks, “transcribed from forgotten‑language hearsay, been fact‑checked for accuracy?”

Abby nods without hesitation.

“I believe so,” she says. “No doubt the original prototype cellphones recorded everything perfectly.”

She adds, half‑joking, half‑serious:

“AI tech made flawless translations.”

Evan exhales.

“Tell me,” he says, “about your emotional, self‑centered, dictatorial Creator. The one made in the image and likeness of humans.”

Abby sits up straighter.

“People were made to be like the Creator,” she says. “My Creator has human emotions, thoughts, desires like me.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear.

“He’s lonely,” Abby says. “He wants more friends. He loves being the top King. He wants no other kings before him.”

Her voice sharpens.

“He’s a jealous King,” she adds. “No worshiping anyone else. He’s very attached to his names and titles, so we don’t take his name in vain.”

She looks at Evan.

“I believe he’s in charge of everything,” she says, “as long as I hand him the authority and responsibility.”

She smiles weakly.

“Because I believe in a Savior,” Abby says, “my harmful actions aren’t really sinful anymore. The Holy Spirit is in charge of me. I transfer all accountability to my Savior—past, present, future.”

Evan’s gaze hardens.

“Would non‑accountability,” he asks quietly, “encourage fanatical, self‑righteous criminals?”

The question hangs between them like a live wire.

Abby feels the shock of it in her chest—but she looks away.

Chapter 5: Evan Questions Abby About Miscarried Souls and the Tempters

Right before Evan questions Abby about miscarried souls and the Tempters, the quiet is interrupted. “Five minutes,” the librarian calls.

The overhead lights flicker again.

Abby rubs her temples.

“I believe Absolvers are right,” she says, her voice softer, “and everyone else is wrong.”

She draws a breath.

“The magic power of unquestioned beliefs,” she says, “overrides logic, truth, laws—everything. Believers are purposely made unable to grasp deep cosmic law and truth. It’s a test of our blind faith and obedience to the holy Interpreters.”

Her shoulders sag.

“I want short, easy, guaranteed solutions to giant problems,” Abby says. “I don’t want the stress of wondering about things I can’t understand yet. I feel better when I’m told most deep questions are beyond human understanding.”

She laughs once, without humor.

“My complicated questions get replaced,” she says, “with unverified, illogical beliefs. And that actually calms me down.”

Evan’s voice softens.

“Your Father tells you,” he says, “everything will be alright as long as you obey what he tells you.”

Abby nods.

“Believers can’t resist Interpreters promising a happy‑ever‑afterlife,” she says. “My main goal is getting effortless eternal comfort.”

Her fingers tighten on the strap of her bag.

“Everyone who joins my team,” she adds, “is promised unearned luxury retirement in exchange for giving up their free will. No questions asked.”

She swallows.

“I expect to get rewarded,” Abby says, “for trusting unverified doctrine sold by a divine salesman.”

Evan watches her.

“How do you explain,” he asks, “all the different interpretations of that big book? Conflicting versions guarantee some dogma has to be false.”

Abby shrugs.

“Faith, not facts, is what matters,” she says. “Believers are free to fill in the blanks when there’s no rule.”

She chews her lip.

“The strength and sincerity of an Absolver’s beliefs,” she says, “automatically trigger our friendly Creator’s grace.”

Her eyes brighten.

“Kids who truly believe in Santa,” Abby says, “always get toys—even though their faith is based on their parents’ lies.”

She smiles.

“As long as you believe and obey any Interpreter on my team,” she says, “your debts get erased, and you get to be happy forever.”

Evan leans back, staring at the ceiling.

“The magic power of belief is spreading,” he says. “Fast.”

He shakes his head.

“Delusional fantasy,” he adds, “keeps getting rebranded as a ‘valid personal preference.’”

He looks at her again.

“New rebel Interpreters love being validated by followers,” he says. “The mindless masses are thrilled with all the conflicting interpretations they can choose from. It’s easier to swap Interpreters than change religions.”

Abby nods slowly.

“Absolvers base daily decisions,” she says, “on what we think our Creator wants.”

She sighs.

“Interpreters give updates on His current needs,” she adds. “As long as believers check off some of his desires each day, we can do whatever else we want.”

She taps the table.

“We automatically assume our desires come from instinct,” Abby says.

Evan leans in.

“Are there harmful desires,” he asks, “inserted into our brains by Tempters?”

Abby raises her eyebrows.

“Good question,” she says. “All the sinful taboos are accurately listed in the big book of Truth.”

She nods.

“Breaking those laws is off‑limits,” she says, “unless you’re filled with divine grace.”

She folds her arms.

“Absolvers are convinced our Creator wants the Tempters to test our beliefs,” Abby continues. “Because worthless believers can’t grow in faith without opposition and trauma.”

Her voice grows flat.

“Humans are made as miserable, worthless sinners,” she says. “Only those filled with blind belief can create enough space to be filled with the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit makes us worthy.”

She looks up.

“The Holy Ghost,” Abby says, “can only enter a mind full of magical beliefs, not facts.”

She inhales.

“Our Creator will throw out spiritless, disobedient people,” she adds, “so the Tempters can torture them forever.”

Evan frowns.

“Obedience testing must be ramping up,” he says. “Because the Tempters’ influence looks stronger every year.”

He thinks of everything he’s seen on screens: rage, lies, numbness.

“Society keeps aligning more with the Tempters’ agenda,” he says. “Throwing away old virtues and values.”

He studies her.

“Has your Creator assigned more personal spiritual sponsors,” he asks, “to counter all this darkness?”

Abby shakes her head.

“The only ones we can trust,” she says, “are the Father, his only Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

She shrugs.

“The Creator can’t trust other enlightened co‑creators as helpers,” she adds. “A younger generation could eventually overthrow his kingship.”

Evan’s pen goes still.

“What happens when your body dies?” he asks quietly. “There’s a lot to learn. Can your soul come back here for more training?”

Abby answers instantly.

“No,” she says. “Believers get one body, two afterlife options, and a three‑headed God.”

She counts on her fingers.

“No matter how long or short,” she continues, “one lifetime is enough for the Creator to decide my eternity. He knows if I’ve been good or bad. He knows if I will be good or bad. So a soul that’s never born can still be judged.”

Evan tilts his head.

“Can the Creator see a soul will reject the Savior,” he asks, “and then change destiny by making sure that baby is never born?”

He doesn’t look away.

“When a body naturally terminates pregnancies,” Evan says, “is that the mother’s fault—or the Creator’s? What happens to souls whose bodies miscarry?”

Abby’s shoulders tense.

“Who cares?” she snaps. “Why are you asking such detailed questions?”

She shakes her head.

“The Creator runs everything,” she says. “Let him do his job. I trust him to be perfect and make perfect calls.”

Evan’s voice drops.

“One in five pregnancies end in miscarriage,” he says. “That’s a twenty‑percent failure rate.”

He looks at the table.

“No company could stay open,” Evan says, “if twenty percent of its products were defective, inadequate, useless.”

He glances up.

“Globally, around 135 million births a year come from about 225 million pregnancies,” he continues. “Forty million miscarried. Fifty million intentionally aborted.”

He holds her gaze.

“You claim a new soul is created at the moment of every conception,” Evan says. “So what happens to those ninety million unborn souls every year?”

He doesn’t blink.

“If half the population ends up believers,” he adds, “then around forty‑five million unborn souls each year wouldn’t become believers. By your logic, they’d end up in Hell.”

Abby slams her hands on the table.

“Nonsense,” she says. “I believe every unborn soul goes straight to Heaven.”

Her voice trembles.

“My all‑merciful Creator makes aborted and miscarried souls perfect,” she says. “So they end up like all the believers in Heaven. Made perfect.”

She looks down at her hands.

“I can’t wait to be made perfect,” Abby says quietly. “My current soul is worthless and broken. I believe my Savior will make me perfect.”

Evan closes his notebook.

“When facts don’t add up,” he says, “there’s something wrong with the facts.”

The lights flicker a third time.

For a heartbeat, it feels like the building itself is holding its breath.

Chapter 6: Abby Describes the Time-Travel Forgiveness of Her Savior

In the moments before Abby describes the time-travel forgiveness of her Savior, the library shuts down, but the conversation doesn’t.

They move outside to the back steps of the school, and the concrete still holds the day’s warmth. The parking lot is mostly empty now—just a few staff cars and a flickering streetlight buzzing like a trapped insect.

Crickets start up in the grass. The sky fades from blue to deep navy.

Abby sits on the lowest step, hugging her knees to her chest. Evan leans against the metal railing, notebook tucked under his arm.

She chews her gum slowly, eyes fixed on a crack in the asphalt.

“Even though he pretends to be poor,” Abby says suddenly, breaking the quiet, “my Savior always wears rich‑man clothes.”

Evan looks over.

“He’s sin‑debt‑free and crazy wealthy,” she continues. “So he offers to pay for everyone’s past, current, and future sin debts.”

She says it like a line from a play, but this time the words sound heavier in her own ears.

Evan straightens.

“I can see how he could pay off past and current debts,” Evan says. “That part almost makes sense. Did he leave behind some huge trust fund that still has assets?”

Abby shakes her head.

“My current and future sin debt,” she says, “gets paid in real time through a virtual time‑portal transaction.”

Evan blinks.

“A what?”

“All sin debts get magically sent back in time,” Abby explains, “and dumped on my Savior while he’s bleeding and suffering.”

She closes her eyes and sees the scene: cross, nails, crowd, thunder.

“He’s the substitute,” she says quietly, “and the one who receives the cosmic judgment against our sin debt. His bleeding blood transmutes our transgressions for all believers. He’s the perfect scapegoat.”

Evan’s brow furrows.

“It can take years,” he says, “for one human to atone for one life of bad choices. Sometimes they get life in prison.”

He folds his arms.

“How many thousands of years does your Savior suffer,” Evan asks, “to undo all of humanity’s past and future harm? Are his hands and feet still bleeding to cover the most recent sin debt?”

Abby doesn’t hesitate.

“My Savior is brutally tortured for about three hours,” she says, “until he bleeds to death from a crown of thorns on his head and gets poked in his side.”

She frowns.

“Oops,” she corrects softly. “He’s already dead when the soldier pokes him.”

She looks up at Evan.

“I trust that the bloody sacrifice of the Redeemer,” she says, “frees me from the penalty for all my sins.”

Evan exhales.

“Three hours of bleeding from small wounds,” he says slowly, “to undo all sins for eternity.”

He lets the numbers hang in the night air.

“That’s a great bargain,” he adds. “Whoever negotiated that deal is an amazing salesman.”

Abby’s lips twitch into a weak smile.

“During those three hours,” she says, “my suffering Savior has this huge list of all future believers’ names and their crimes. So we’re included in the contract for vicarious, time‑travel transformation.”

She stares up at the first faint stars.

“Two thousand years ago,” Abby says, “our Savior took the penalty that our transgressions deserve. So believers don’t have to suffer now.”

She smiles faintly.

“He’s such a great friend to do this for my team,” she says. “I’ve got a sign‑up sheet if you want to join. We can, you know, fax your name back in time to add you to the master list.”

Evan lets out a short laugh.

“Some impressive multitasking,” he says. “Reading a list of sinners stretching into eternity sounds like a good distraction from physical pain.”

He tilts his head.

“Your debts get forgiven,” Evan says. “You become debt‑free like your Savior when he wakes up from his near‑death experience.”

Abby nods, encouraged by the familiar script.

“At the same time,” she says, “because I believe in time travel, a duplicate of my Savior’s righteousness gets sent forward in time to cover my sin debt.”

She opens her hands like she’s receiving something.

“His righteousness gets instantly placed inside me,” Abby says, “masking my corruption and making me perfect in my Creator’s eyes.”

She brightens.

“Imagine throwing dirty, torn clothes into a magic washing machine,” she says, “and they come out as beautiful new outfits.”

She lifts her chin.

“Swapping my sins for my Savior’s righteousness,” Abby says, “is like getting a whole new wardrobe.”

Evan watches her for a moment.

“What happened to the old clothes?” he asks quietly.

Abby blinks.

“I heard the Creator’s eyes are too pure to look at sin,” Evan continues. “So what eventually happens to your overshadowed, hidden, evil nature?”

Abby shrugs, hugging her knees tighter.

“What my Creator doesn’t see doesn’t matter,” she says. “I’m made right with him by putting my faith in the vicarious, time‑travel suffering my multitasking Savior did for billions of believers till the end of time.”

She stares at the asphalt.

“Instead of working for perfection,” she says, “I’m automatically wiped clean of all imperfection and declared perfect because of his substitution.”

Her voice goes soft.

“In my afterlife,” Abby says, “I can stand in front of my Creator apparently debt‑free—wearing my Savior’s righteousness instead of my own broken personality.”

Evan looks out at the empty parking lot. A breeze stirs bits of trash near a drain.

“The Creator prefers,” he says, “to work with individual, creative, free souls.”

He turns back to her.

“Souls who’ve actually mastered cosmic wisdom, divine virtues, mystic powers,” he says calmly.

He holds her gaze.

“His kingdom needs experienced professionals,” Evan continues. “Miracle‑workers. Healers. Master alchemists.”

He nods toward her chest, toward the place her hands rest.

“What use is a worthless soul,” he asks softly, “who had someone else erase all their debts and overwrite their personality?”

He shakes his head.

“His kingdom doesn’t need choirboys,” Evan says. “Or unskilled servants. Or spiritual socialists on permanent vacation.”

He draws a slow breath.

“His kingdom needs mighty warriors,” he says. “Souls actually worthy to receive the nine gifts of the Holy Spirit.”

Abby stares at him.

Her heartbeat thuds in her ears—something in her recoils. Something else leans in, hungry.

No one in her youth group talks like this.

For a long moment, there’s only the hum of the streetlight and the sound of distant traffic.

Above them, the lamp casts a pale cone of light, turning their small debate into something that feels bigger than two teenagers on concrete steps.

Inside Abby’s chest, energy churns.

Part of it is the familiar gray fear she knows by heart.

But around the edges, thin threads of bright white and violet start to move, like a new frequency tuning in—a different story about what she could become if she stops betting her whole eternity on avoiding effort.

She doesn’t know yet what to do with that story.

But now it exists.

And once a new frequency starts vibrating in your soul, it’s almost impossible to un‑hear it.

Chapter Synopsis:

In the school library and later on the back steps of Northwood School, Evan and Abby engage in a deep and challenging dialogue dissecting Abby's unwavering belief in an all-inclusive, effortless Absolver afterlife. While Abby enthusiastically describes her guaranteed ticket to "vacationland"—complete with a mansion, endless free time, a Creator who micro-manages everything, and a Savior who supposedly used a "virtual time-portal transaction" to absorb all past, present, and future sins during his three-hour crucifixion—Evan uses logical fact-checking and probing questions to expose the massive contradictions in her dogma. Evan challenges her notions of unearned righteousness, the fate of unborn souls, the absence of real personal growth, and the absurdity of trading away personal responsibility, free will, and soul-mastery for a permanent cosmic vacation. Although initially defensive, Abby is left shaken as Evan reframes the Creator not as a jealous king seeking unskilled servants, but as requiring experienced, disciplined spiritual warriors worthy of true cosmic mastery.

Core Themes & Laws:

• The Illusion of Unearned Grace: The theological promise of instant debt-erasure and time-travel righteousness acts as a spiritual shortcut that prevents souls from doing the real, hard work of self-mastery and transmuting their own karma.

• The Trap of Blind Faith: Institutionalized dogmas often demand "kindergarten consciousness," discouraging critical thinking and deep questioning by convincing believers that ignorance and unquestioning obedience are virtues.

• Cosmic Law vs. Arbitrary Judgment: A universe governed by absolute cosmic law requires soul evolution, personal accountability, and the active development of virtues and mystic gifts rather than permanent vacationing or spiritual socialism.

• The Awakening of a New Frequency: Confronting comforting illusions with hard spiritual truths can trigger inner cognitive dissonance, rattling the ego's defenses and allowing a higher, more rigorous frequency of spiritual growth to take root.

Key Entities Featured in this Document:

• Evan: A fact-checking student who methodically dismantles unverified afterlife expectations, challenging Abby to think critically about soul development and cosmic law.

• Abby: A student who clings to youth-group dogma, blind faith, and the promise of an effortless, sin-free eternity in Heaven before facing the logical flaws in her beliefs.